The addict is out of town for three weeks...

Ben started a new job and is out of town for orientation and training for three weeks. He was issued a new computer through his company, and he has a lot of internet access on his phone right now [for work purposes].

Anyway, we've got triggers galore right here.

First of all, there is him being gone for three weeks. He doesn't have a great track record when it comes to sobriety and traveling.

Then there is all the internet access...

Meanwhile, I'm left to care for a one-month old without my husband. It's been difficult, but it's getting easier. [And I went to stay with my family so I have help.]

I didn't know how to set a boundary with this trip. Well, other than the usual let-me-know-within-24-hours boundary. But a couple days into his trip, I realized what I needed. It's very hard to communicate because of time zones, conflicting schedules, and a baby who seems to know when to cry to disturb phone calls. So, I asked him to email me a check-in every night. He knows what to write and what things I expect him to discuss in his check in. This has been really helpful because I can see his process throughout the day, and it allows transparency at a time that has been very difficult to have good communication anyway [and I'll assume that is normal when you are in the newborn survival-mode stage].

Things have been really good with us. I feel overall peaceful and happy.

I'm grateful for a husband who respects my boundaries and is trying to be in recovery. He has been making great progress. In fact, I've seen him making progress towards recovery in a situation where he would normally fall back into the addictive behaviors. That is HUGE. He wrote this blog post today, and as I read it, my heart was full. I love seeing his processing, and I love seeing him take steps towards recovery that are HIS steps, not things I have asked him to do. I love being surprised by discovering he is doing something new for his recovery. In that past, I've had to kick him into recovery. Now, his recovery is very much his own.

Even if he weren't respectful of my boundaries, I'm grateful for the things I have learned on this journey. I am strong enough to set boundaries and hold to them. That is huge too. By asking him to email me a check-in every night, it has eased a lot of my anxiety and triggers because I know he isn't hiding anything. That's what boundaries are for. To bring us peace and keep us safe.

Here's too hoping for the best on the rest of his trip!

Danger: Entering Trauma City

Yesterday was really triggery for me.

My health insurance has this program called Begin Right (or something like that...). It's a maternity program. If I do this program, we get money. Who doesn't want money, right?

I had to take this survey at the beginning of my pregnancy. And then I had to talk to... I don't know what to call her. My health insurance maternity agent? She is a representative from the program just for me.

When I took the survey, Ben sat there with me (because I really didn't want to do it) and helped me answer the questions (because I like to minimize what I'm going through). There were questions about my mood and depression symptoms. Which, of course, I had to answer honestly. Actually, Ben honestly answered them for me...

Anyway, those questions became a topic of discussion with my maternity representative. She asked if my mood had gotten better, if I had stopped feeling "low." I told her my moody feelings had more to do with outside circumstances in my life than my pregnancy. I'm sure hormones have something to do with it. And I know feeling sick and barfing a ton hasn't helped ease the depression. But, the truth is, my depression does go much deeper than my pregnancy.

So, of course, she asked what we were dealing and if I would talk to her about what was going on in my life. I tried to keep my answers polite and simple, but she KEPT DIGGING. And my breaking point was when she asked me if I ever had "tearful episodes." When I said yes, I do, but I'm not that worried about it, she expressed her concern with my "tearful episodes", and to me, it sounded like she was saying that normal people don't cry. Like, ever.

After more probing questions, I finally told her bluntly that I didn't feel comfortable talking to her about issues that are very personal to me and I would appreciate it if we could move on to something more relevant to my pregnancy, not my personal issues that cause me to have "tearful episodes."

It kind of went downhill from there. I got off the phone near tears and reached out to some friends to tell them about this conversation and how I felt that a person who has NO IDEA who I am or what I am going through was minimizing my pain.

God has blessed me with good friends. Friends who kindly reminded me (and humorously. I have to quote this because it seriously turned my day around) that I "have been crazy sick and...dealing with trauma. Not having an emotional response would indicate you probably also torture animals."

I've been really tender and touchy since the conversation I had with this woman. I've had some other triggery experiences in the past 24 hours. Sometimes they pull me down, and sometimes I can be strong enough to pull myself back up.

I feel like I'm starting to go into Trauma City, and I just want to lay on my couch and watch Veronica Mars all night. With a half gallon of ice cream for company. Ben can come too, I guess. 

But on another note, I really did do something super strong and brave yesterday. Except I'm not going to write about it because the experience I had could be triggery to some, minimized by some, or I could look foolish to some. So I'm keeping that in my heart, but I know I'm a warrior. And I will make it through Trauma City. Hopefully I don't have to take too many detours.

Burning Lingerie

There are a few stories I could tell here.

One is about the trigger of lingerie.
One is about how I destroyed that trigger.
And one is how I opened up and allowed myself to be vulnerable in a situation that normally scares me.

All of these stories have something in common: I'm facing my fears, people! I can do hard things!

I'm not really sure where this post will take me. I might split these stories up into a couple of posts. We will see what happens as I write.

Oh, ps, it's possible that this post might be triggery. After all, I'm writing about a trigger (but then I destroy the trigger in the end--if that helps you make it through :P).

*****

I remember the last time I wore lingerie. I went a long time without wearing it because of the trauma associated with the addiction in my marriage. I finally felt like I could handle it. I could handle wearing it. I wanted to feel sexy. I wanted that power and, dare I say, peace of feeling good in my marriage. I don't really know what I was thinking--meaning I don't know why I would think that wearing something calling for lust would be a good idea in my situation--because looking back I see that I was pretty much just setting myself up to be a lust object. Or, in the very least, to feel like an object.

After all the work I had done fighting the trauma and the addiction, I thought I could do it. I put it on and happened to look at myself in the mirror. I looked good (no, I don't ever use sexy to describe myself). I looked so good, in fact, that I had a panic attack about it. It stemmed from a lot of things, but the main thing I remember thinking was, "I could be in a porn video. I'm dressed for the part." [Although, to be fair, I'm sure my sexy-look is much more conservative than any porn video. But, I don't know. I've never watched one.] I kept the anxiety and panic to myself at first. I felt like I wasn't allowed to ruin sex when I had basically already told him that it was going to happen. So, I sucked up the panicky feelings and tried to go with the flow.

But I couldn't. And honestly, I don't remember what happened. That is how much it jostled my brain. Either I gathered my strength, stopped what was going on, and broke down sobbing, or I went with it and then broke down sobbing afterwords. Whatever happened, all I remember is the crying. The trauma.

I. could. not. do. it.

Ben, bless his heart, was very patient with me. I mean, he was to my face. I don't know how patient he was in his thoughts. Regardless, he seemed patient with me. I'm pretty sure we went a long time after that without sex again because that last time wearing lingerie was so traumatic for me. All I could think about when I thought about sex was lust, porn, and cheating. I constantly wondered if he was acting in love or lust. I constantly wondered if my body was a trigger for him of the other naked bodies he had seen. I wondered who he was seeing and who he was loving: me or some woman in his head?

Eventually, we packed up our belongings and moved across the country to good ol' Arkansas.

We lived with my parents for ten months, and all the while, my lingerie was packed away.

When we moved into our house, and I unpacked my lingerie, it all hit me again. Each piece had some kind of memory attached to it. There was the one from our wedding night--so full of innocence and naivety. And lies. There were the ones he liked and convinced me to wear the most. Because I was sexy in them. Barf. There were some that were just fun and reflected my personality. But sex was a lie to me. And there was one that I always wore when I dressed for myself instead of him.

The memories flooded at me as I  unpacked. And by memories, I'm talking about bad ones. Even the good memories had a sour twist to them because behind every good memory were lies and secrets.

I cried as I unpacked my lingerie. I felt like I could never wear them again.

And then I decided to burn them.

My idea of sex and intimacy in marriage has changed a lot throughout my marriage because of this addiction. It's not a bad thing. I think I'm becoming a better person. I'm learning more about the true meaning of love and how true intimacy works, and to me it's just beautiful. I don't need lingerie to make me feel rotten and dirty. When physically intimate moments happen, they just happen. They are becoming more perfect--in tune with God and the true reason why our bodies are built the way they are. I'm becoming one with my husband through intimacy, and I love how it is helping our relationship.

I don't need lingerie.

My decision to burn my lingerie was a solid two-three months ago. But then things kept coming up that caused me to push this event off. Eventually, I became scared of doing it and started rationalizing myself out of it.

Today, I thought long and hard about my lingerie. I asked myself what the purpose is in keeping it. I asked myself what would happen if it was destroyed. And then I felt fear and anxiety begin to overtake me, and I realized that I had to burn it. I'm not saying that everyone should take this approach to healing: I'm just saying I needed to.

You see, I've been fighting body image issues along with everything else. I don't write about it, and I rarely allow myself to even think about it because I hate it. I know I'm just fine the way I am. I actually really like my body, and I try to remind myself of that every day. But because of many factors that play into the anxiety and problems I'm experiencing in my life, I constantly have this underlying notion that I am not good enough. And I usually play that out through my body image.

Today, I hit a moment where I knew that something I needed to do physically to help myself heal in many areas was to burn my lingerie. So I did. The rotten stuff was so full of poison for me in so many different ways, and physically destroying that poison was one of the most healing things I have done (right alongside burning the addiction).

I started with Ben's favorites--the ones that make me look sexy. Blech. Need I say I hate that word? Then I just kept putting the other pieces on one by one. I ended up keeping one set of lingerie: the one that I wore for me. I kept it as a symbol of hope.

I know I'm not instantly healed just because I burned my lingerie. But I do feel like a piece of me is back where it belongs. I feel more peace, and I feel a little more hope. Or at least I feel like I can keep pressing onward a little bit longer.